


Tom, Dick, and Gary

by redandgold



Series: banterville [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6166534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/pseuds/redandgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eh, Neville. Send me a dick pic."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tom, Dick, and Gary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts).



> The prompt: "lots of banter!!! + something about them dealing with their long distance whatever-it-is now that Gary's in Valencia."  
> \---> basically dick jokes 
> 
>  
> 
> [Suggested Watching](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Trek_II:_The_Wrath_of_Khan)  
> [good to know](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spotted_dick)  
> 

_D -6_

_"_ Eh, Neville. Send me a dick pic."

Gary lets out a snort of laughter that a man wouldn't usually want associated with his dick. " _Wh_ _at?_ "

"C'mon. I'm bored and alone and stuck with crap British weather. You promised an anniversary present. Ergo, dick pic."

"We're famous footballers. Multimillionaires, even. I'd buy you a private jet if you'd like. And you want a dick pic."

Jamie flops onto his back, grinning at the ceiling like a stupid schoolboy and - frankly - not giving a damn. "Buy me a private jet plastered with dick pics."

Gary chokes. "You're disgusting, Carragher."

" _You_ are, rat boy."

"Calling me rat boy increases the chances of light showers with dick pics by approximately the number of titles you've won."

"Or the number of finals you've been in since Fergie upped and left."

"You know who Liverpool's penalty takers reminded me of? One of them English centre-backs who missed in Germany '06."

"Chances of dick pics after I brag about Istanbul and call United a team of wankers?"

"-500."

"That's not mathematically possible."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Given how much of a twat you normally are, it's easy to forget you have a degree from Oxford in advanced calculus."

"No, I don't. It was Cambridge."

Gary sniggers despite himself and Jamie joins him, a brief moment of sync across nine hundred seventy two miles. A heartbeat passes and Jamie wishes he could keep all of these moments in a chest locked up somewhere.

"Eh, Neville," he says again, whispers this time.

"What?"

Gary's voice is so faraway that Jamie almost doesn't hear him. He figures  _fuck it_ and mumbles "miss you," hanging up before Gary can respond.  


An hour later he opens Whatsapp to find a picture of Dick Cheney.

 

_D-5_

Gary's just about to leave the office for the dressing room when his phone rings. Ordinarily he'd have chucked it out of the window, having slipped into Everything Else Is Immaterial And If You Don't Win I Will Kill You-mode, but he steps aside from thinking about Athletic for a minute. Phil showed him a month back how to customise notifications for different people, and he only pulls out his phone when it chirps _auto-complete!._

(Phil wouldn't stop laughing about it until Gary asked him to send him a message. _You're just a shit Gary Neville_ functioned equally well as a shutter-upper as it did a ringtone.)

 **James (13:35)  
** U never told me what u wanted for the anniversary

Gary rolls his eyes and types out _I don't need anything_ as he puts on his jacket and stalks down the corridor. The reply is immediate.

 **James (13:35)  
** Srs??

 **James (13:36)  
** Do u want a framed picture of west brom

 **James (13:36)  
** To remind u of how shite u were

 _Do you want a premier league medal since you don't have any  
_ _Now fuck off i'm busy_

 **James (13:37)  
** u didnt use to be so busy

 _have a dick pic  
_ _ <image attachment> _

**James (13:38)  
** Neville

 **James (13:38)  
** did u just send me

 **James (13:38)  
** a picture of donald trump

Satisfied with reclaiming Archbishop of Banterbury, Gary tucks his phone in his pocket and heads over to where Phil's standing. "How's the team looking?"

"Raring to go." Phil's briefing is interrupted by a cascade of Fifa 16-sponsored enthusiasm which Gary dutifully ignores. Phil makes a face which Gary also dutifully ignores.

 **James (13:40)  
** wat time's the game

 **James (13:41)  
** KIDDING! Course i know

 **James (13:41)  
** five past two yes

 **James (13:43)  
** G a ry

 **James (13:45)  
** are you ignoring me?????

 **James (13:48)  
** u wanker

 **James (13:49)  
** im running off to sleep with redders

 **James (13:51)  
** redders invited barnes we're all in the bedroom now

 **James (13:55)  
** Oh look Scholesys here wearing nothing but a pair of fluffy boots

 **James (13:56)  
** m8 I didnt just give myself a lifelong nightmare of a mental image to get no response

 **James (13:57)  
** m8

"You could put it on mute, you know," Phil mutters after Gary's brief team talk is rendered even more confusing by the string of messages. For his part Gary is glad that most of them don't understand English and probably none of them understand Scouse.

They're walking to the dugout. Gary puts his hand in his pocket and holds his phone. "I know," he says, but doesn't.

 **James (14:00)  
** pls stop wearing that tracksuit

 **James (14:00)  
** u look like an unappetising pasty

 **James (14:01)  
** and yes there are such things

 **James (14:03)  
** Phil could at least look like hes trying to give a fuck

 **James (14:03)  
** he inherited ur grumpy face tho

 **James (14:04)  
** ur away kits are so weird

 **James (14:04)  
** hav u been eating too much paella u need to work out

 **James (14:05)  
** gaz?

 **James (14:05)  
** stuff 'em.

 

_D-4_

Jamie hates it when they lose for two reasons: first, that it means Gary won't talk to him for the next fifteen hours, and second, that it means having to read the news the next morning. "Look at this," he grumbles, storming down to the kitchen where Paul's already washing the plates. "They only ever write two things about him, how he's going to get sacked or how he's had a brief respite before he gets sacked."

"Don't be Mignolet having an off-day, Carragher," Paul says sternly, flicking soapy water at Jamie, who ducks. "It's the English press. The only time you can take the English press to heart is when they're collectively slagging off Arsenal."

"I know, I know." Defeated, Jamie sinks into the chair and gives the headline a glare that would've burned a hole in it if he'd been Superman. "I'm just. Sick of the way they treat him, y'know? And sick of how I can't be there to comfort him."

"I am your temporary flatmate, not your love guru," Paul sniffs, nevertheless taking a seat opposite him and sipping his tea. "And I'd rather not discuss my best friend under circumstances that might need an R18 rating attached to them."

"No. You're right. Sorry." Jamie looks at the clock. "What time's the game?"

"Couple more hours and I'll be out of your hair, or what's left of it. Till BT decides to broadcast another mid-table clash, anyway."

Jamie scowls at him. "You sure you don't know anyone else in Liverpool and you're not just here to wind me up?"

"Just be glad they didn't bring me in to replace Gaz, mate." Paul realises his mistake even as he's saying it and winces. Jamie looks back at the newspaper.

"Long distance is tough," he says.

Paul softens.

"I do know other people in Liverpool." His usual gruff mumble is even harder to distinguish than usual, as if on purpose. "Wanted to check up on you. Makes me feel like I was...y'know. Checking up on him, too."

Jamie's suddenly glad that the ginger knobhead is around. "I know." They're quiet for a while, then he adds, "think we should call him?"

"What, the day after he loses?" Paul snorts. "I'm misanthropic, not suicidal. He'll be fine. Phil's sending me updates, anyway. Text you when I've got something."

The moment Paul leaves, Jamie chucks all the newspapers in the bin and sets fire to them. It's probably illegal, but there's something extremely cathartic about it. Anyway, it's the least he can do. His phone buzzes about an hour later.

 **Scholes (11:45)  
** Phil says he's gone into his office and locked the door. Something about you.

 **Scholes (11:45)  
** By 'you', I mean Phil said 'dicks', but it's really the same thing.

Jamie puts his phone on the countertop and stares at it until it buzzes again. He swipes at the notification only to find the nether regions of Michaelangelo's _David_.

 **Gareth (11:59)  
** Better than urs

 _Fucking cop-out_ , Jamie sends back, but grins anyway.

 

_D-3_

"Is this the one with the little green man?"

There's a sharp draw of breath from the other end of the line. "First of all, it's Yoda, and second of all, never, _ever_ confuse Star Trek with Star Wars." Gary can almost feel the judgement radiating all the way from Liverpool and wonders vaguely what having both Jamie and Scholesy disparage him at the same time would feel like.

"Okay, okay. You must remember I spent twenty years concentrating on whipping your arses instead of pop culture."

"And look what you've got to show for it - a steadily-sinking football club and $0 on _Who Wants To Be A Millionaire_."

Gary gives the phone a scowl and collapses into his sofa, switching on the TV. "Whatever. I'd rather have medals, ta."

"You'd rather have eclairs." Jamie cackles and Gary can feel his chest loosen a little, the Bilbao game slowly slipping out of his head. "Right, Neville, I'm pressing play."

Within the first two minutes Gary can already tell he's going to be bored out of his skull, although he's not quite sure what else he expected from something called Star Trek other than a never-ending montage of stars. "I've seen this before," he says. "Kahn was pretty wrath-y after we won the treble. D'you need me to introduce the third one to you?"

There's a moan over the phone. "I categorically refuse to be abused on this subject while watching _Trek_ ," Jamie says stiffly. "Especially an even-numbered _Trek._ "

The thing that Jamie has failed to understand about Gary is how little the words 'even-numbered _Trek_ ' mean to him. Certainly they don't outweigh how pleasing the thought of a Scouser despairingly banging his head against the wall is.

"Okay, who made their costumes? They look like someone gave Phil a needle and thread and locked him in a room without sunlight for two days."

"I'm not sure which is the bigger ham, the sandwich I had for lunch or this Kirk bloke."

"Is that Khan? He looks like a Rolling Stones reject who was so upset he moved back to the Neolithic period."

"I don't know why you feel the need to scream into your pillow, Carragher. This is some quality analysis. All I need now is a touchscreen and a squiggly pen."

"Those electronic displays look more fake than a Diego Costa dive. I think we've finally found something that's aged worse than you, mate."

"Y'know, I'm not sure this can count as quality time if there's no quality. ...no, I will not go and fuck myself, you'll just have to come here and do it for me."

Gary's really beginning to enjoy himself, despite Jamie's solemn vow to stuff him in an oven and chuck him off BT Tower. To be fair, he could be watching _Sharknado 2_ and still be enjoying himself. He curls up on the edge of his sofa, looking over at the empty seat and imagining that there's another human being with green eyes and the kindest smile curled up with him. Almost. Imagining a voice without the fuzzy quality of a phone line. Almost.

As Kirk and Spock say goodbye, Gary absently half-raises his hand. "Carra," he says.

"Yes, you unappreciative bastard?"

"Would you die for me?"

Jamie is startled into a laugh. "I'll consider it."

"That'd be news, wouldn't it?" Gary giggles. "Ex-Liverpool defender to save ex-Manchester United defender who five years ago he would've killed."

The credits are rolling when Jamie suddenly says, "no." Gary feels his heart sink a little.

"No," Jamie repeats. "I'd much rather live for - with - you. Even though that'd probably mean I'd die anyway."

 _Almost._ Gary switches off the TV and pats the empty seat. "Guess what I'm having for dinner?"

"What?"

"Spotted dick. Want a picture?"

 

_D-2_

They win the Malaga game and Jamie heaves a sigh of relief, though admittedly one not as huge as when the final whistle on the Liverpool-City game goes. His phone beeps - one word, _thanks_ \- and he sends back triumphantly, _coming for u red ones next_.

 **Gareth (22:13)  
** How do you install Skype

 **Scholes (22:13)  
** For the love of god don't let him install Skype I'll never be able to sleep at 3am again

Jamie ignores Paul and proceeds to instruct Gary in the wonders of modern technology. Soon Gary's there, the same eyes and nose and worried crease, and all Jamie can do is grin stupidly at him.

"I'd almost forgotten what you looked like."

"We see each other on telly every week, you twat."

"Yeah, well, this is different."

"I s'pose. Anyway, just wanted to tell you this."

Gary gives him the finger. Jamie rolls his eyes.

"Rude."

"Coming for _you_ reds next."

"Eh, Neville. Since we're on video, it's even easier. Just drop your pants."

Gary chokes and Jamie has the complete satisfaction of smugness that a phone line could never have given him.

"I will _not_ , you depraved melt. You're ruining the surprise."

"C'mon," Jamie wheedles. "Surprises can wait. Dicks can't."

"You want a dick, huh?" Gary stands up such that the camera is fully within Prime Dick Area. There's a strange rustle and Jamie leans forward, somewhat in anticipation, mostly in disbelief.

A _thud_ jolts him and Jamie swears, jumping backwards. The spine of _Oxford Dictionary of English_ winks up through the video call. Gary sits down again, smugness transferred. "Now will you shut up and let me play the fucking guitar?"

Jamie's in the middle of raising his finger when he blinks. "What?"

"Your non-pervy present. Shut up and don't laugh."

There are many things in his life that Jamie Carragher is thankful for. Liverpool, Sunday roast, his presence of mind to click the record-screen button when Gary Neville begins to sing _Wonderwall_. It's warbly and ridiculous, but it's his.

"I hope that isn't my only present," Jamie says when Gary finishes. "That's a shite present."

"Shut up." Gary must be able to see how pleased Jamie is, though, because he's laughing through the scowl. "You'll get something else, relax."

After Gary hangs up, Jamie goes to Google and stares at the empty search bar. He still hasn't figured out what to get, and it's doing his head in. He'd be well and truly damned if he bought anything United, and anyway Gary probably had everything in the first place.

And then, looking out of the window for inspiration, it strikes him. He types in his search, makes the selection, and clicks _buy_ before he can regret anything. Neville isn't going to forget this anytime soon.

 

_D-1_

Carragher isn't going to forget this anytime soon. Suitably pleased with his purchase, Gary leans back in his chair and tells Scholesy what he's bought. Scholesy's reply is exactly the same, word for word, as his ringtone.

 **Scholesy (13:00)  
** Knobhead

Gary shakes his head and sends Jamie a stock photo of a private investigator instead.

 **James (13:21)  
**????

_It's a private dick. Learn American._

**James (13:23)  
** You're a public dick

_Love u too_

Phil walks into the office, takes one look at Gary's face, and walks back out. Gary calls after him.

"I will not be dragged into your kinky shenanigans," Phil protests, dropping the files onto Gary's desk and folding his arms.

"You won't. I just wanted to tell you to give everyone a day off tomorrow."

"What's tomorr - _oh_." Phil narrows his eyes. "Please don't tell me you're just going to spend your day at home Skyping him naked."

Gary shrugs. "Eh, close enough."

Phil buries his face in his hands with the air of a man who would do anything to unhear what he's just been told. "Please never put that image into my head again."

"You were the one who brought it up. Just tell everyone, would you?"

"All right. But only in exchange for you changing my notification."

"But you _are_ just a shit Gary Neville."

" _Change it_."

After Phil stalks out, Gary tells Jamie he's taking the day off tomorrow. Jamie includes a smiley face in his reply, which is slightly unsettling.  

 **James (13:38)  
** Fab :)

 **James (13:39)  
** Got u a present :)

_It's not a plush toy of Mighty Red, is it_

**James (13:39)  
** fuck

 **James (13:39)  
** wait

 **James (13:41)  
** got you two presents :)

Gary shakes his head and sends him an _ok then m8_ before picking up his coat. On his way home he remembers to change Phil's ringtone and swaps Phil's and Scholesy's around, so that one is irony and the other the truth.

 

_D-Day_

Gary hasn't sent anything all morning, which is starting to worry Jamie slightly as he coasts down the unfamiliar streets. He'd expected at least a bazillion non-dick pics by now, or at least a call and a 'happy anniversary'. Yet utter silence on the phone front reigns.

Shaking off his misgivings with the 'he's just sleeping' excuse, which given both the time and the person in question was highly unlikely, Jamie turns left, following the directions that Paul sent him and hoping dearly that this wasn't another of his wind-ups.

The door is painted red and Jamie isn't even surprised. He parks just outside, picks up Mighty Red Jr and hops down the driveway, turning more and more into an excitable little boy with every step. By the time he rings the doorbell, he's probably congratulated himself on his amazingly clever gift idea for the thousandth time.

"Happy fucking anniversary, you wanker!" Jamie bellows in the face of the Neville who opens the door - only to realise belatedly that he's far too blonde and far too skinny to be the correct one. Phil stares at him for three stunned seconds before bursting into laughter.

"You daft sod," he howls, wiping tears from his eyes while Jamie squirms with embarrassment. "Firstly, surprise - I'm not Gary! - and secondly, no wonder you ended up together. Put the both of you in a plantation and you'll ruin the rubber business. Ohhh, thank you for making my day. No, my week. No, my life. You stupid bastard."

"Will you stop insulting me and just tell me what the fuck's so funny?" thunders Jamie, about two seconds away from being arrested for smashing in a man's face with a very large stick.

"You sentimental little shits." Phil pauses to try and get his breath back, then looks at Jamie with a face as straight as either of them. "He's only gone to Liverpool."  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: 27 February - 4 March  
> redders = Jamie Redknapp (◕ᴗ◕✿)  
> [Jamie's notification](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzogfrv-WUw&feature=youtu.be&t=2m12s) // [Phil's (later Scholesy's ironic) notification](https://twitter.com/hackneywolves/status/288390494717878273) // [Scholesy's (later Phil's accurate) notification](https://vine.co/v/OU2dvgFO0pr)  
> Michaelangelo's _[David](http://everypainterpaintshimself.com/article_images_new/Davi33.jpg)_  
>  Mighty Red is _[frightening](http://assets1.lfcimages.com/uploads/mr-jkt8.jpg)_  
>  Thanks for reading and I hope it fulfilled the prompt! LUB U SHAZ <3


End file.
